


season ticket on a one way ride

by littleblacksubmarine



Series: (you've been) thunderstruck [1]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Johnny Lawrence, Divorce, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Finger Sucking, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26663329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblacksubmarine/pseuds/littleblacksubmarine
Summary: Daniel LaRusso’s marriage is over. Johnny Lawrence has a spare bedroom and rent to pay, man.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Series: (you've been) thunderstruck [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963228
Comments: 42
Kudos: 450





	season ticket on a one way ride

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place post season 2 of Cobra Kai.

To be perfectly clear, Johnny Lawrence didn’t take any kind of bullshit off of anybody.

It had been easier to reaffirm that to himself time and time again, back in the days before his former sensei had swept in, had pulled the rug and his own dojo right out from underneath him. It had been easier to reaffirm that to himself back before he’d molded his students into the quasi-monsters he himself had outgrown – at least to some degree.

It had been easier to reaffirm that to himself when Daniel LaRusso wasn’t standing at his front door with a furrowed brow and a pair of clenched fists that seemed mere precarious seconds from bruising up Johnny’s eye.

He knew the anger there, could feel it rolling off of Daniel in waves in the hospital elevator. Feeling Daniel’s anger – directed at him, more often than not – was in no way a foreign sensation, one that felt almost comfortable, like putting on his most ragged sweatpants after a hot shower. It felt almost comfortable, like opening a Coors Banquet in hopes it would make him feel all right in his own skin that sometimes felt too tight to crawl out of.

Daniel was the last person he wanted to see now, but Johnny supposed that was nothing new.

“What do you want?” he snapped, even more annoyed when Daniel didn’t spare him so much as a flinch away from the volume of his voice. It occurred to Johnny that he ought to not care and hurried to hold up a hand in correction. “Actually, you know what? Save it - you have ten seconds to get the fuck out of here.” He was two and a half beers in without the faintest intention of stopping now, and he’d be god damned if he intended to let Daniel _fucking_ LaRusso get in the way of that.

“I’m sick of this,” Daniel thundered, knowing that _this_ was a concise label for decades of rage that surged back and forth between the two of them, drawing blood and branding them both with bruises that had now spilled over, no longer contained to one generation. Johnny knew the feeling, but also knew just how much easier said than done it was to grin and bear it and play nice with someone he’d spent decades resenting at best and hating at worst. “None of this would’ve happened if you could have just _stayed to yourself_ in the first place.”

“I told you – get _out_ ,” Johnny spat, knowing his face was reddening. The last thing he needed right now was the rehash all the gory particulars of the fight at school, to remember Miguel laying in the hospital in broken, jumbled bits, and Robby hauled off to juvie or wherever the hell kids who maimed other kids at school went. Moreover, Daniel was the last person on earth he needed to talk to about it. “Did you just come over to fight? I’m not in the mood to kick your ass right now, LaRusso, if it’s all the same to you.” He hoped the weariness didn’t show in his voice. 

“As if you could,” Daniel gritted out, clearly unable to help himself.

Johnny snorted and moved to close the door in his face, but at least to his credit, Daniel was quicker and jabbed his foot in the door to prevent it from slamming entirely. Johnny bristled, rearing back with the hand that wasn’t clutching his dewy half-empty beer in it.

“Come here to blame all your problems on me? That’s rich.”

Daniel rolled his eyes but made no move to shift into a fighting stance himself, all the fight seeming to drain out of him like a punctured bag of sand. Still, he stood steady with his foot in the door.

There was a long pause. “Maybe I’m not sure what I came here for.” His voice was still steeled with a resolve that made Johnny feel equal parts fatigued and impatient. It seemed to speak volumes. He regretted the mental gymnastics he’d done to try to justify the expense of ordering a pizza, now suddenly wondering if he’d been duped into sharing it.

“Maybe you should figure your shit out and keep me out of it.”

A few split seconds ticked by as Daniel clearly appeared to be floundering with himself, knowing he should go but lacking the momentum in both feet.

“Amanda kicked me out.”

The words landed as heavily and suddenly as Johnny’s fists used to before he’d been ever so slightly slowed by age and stale beer. A slight heat piqued in Daniel’s cheeks in perfect tandem to the way that Johnny’s curiosity did.

“Don’t you have any fucking friends, Danielle?” Johnny grunted, knowing it would be a dick move to turn away LaRusso in a pathetic moment he ought to get some satisfaction out of.

“None who know just how much karate can ruin your life,” Daniel retorted with an unpleasant sense of honesty. That kind of honesty was a far cry from a guy who spent his weekends farming bonsai trees or whatever the fuck Daniel LaRusso did for fun. “Or at least, none of them who know it who are over the age of, what, sixteen?”

Johnny could drink to that. He stepped aside in concession, some of his righteous anger evaporating off like beer cooked off a brat.

“You want a drink? I don’t have any fucking martinis,” Johnny warned, retreating into the apartment. Part of it felt like a betrayal to Miguel, to Robby, to every single one of them, but the memory of walking into a snake pit charmed by and poised to strike for Kreese made him feel paradoxically charitable. “Seriously? You come here, of all places?”

Daniel shrugged, looking out of place as he stepped into the space of Johnny’s admittedly shitty little shoebox apartment with cheap furniture Bing searches had barely helped him cobble together after he’d accidentally tossed out the instructions with all of his empties.

“Seemed as good a place as any,” Daniel admitted, slumping onto the couch as Johnny headed to the kitchen, finding him a can of beer. He was glad he’d opted for the thirty rack tonight, even though he’d sworn to himself that he’d ration it out over how many days it took.

“That’s a nice way of saying you thought you’d find another sad sack bastard here,” Johnny scoffed, thrusting the beer at Daniel in the same way he would’ve if he were striking him _first_ across the face. If he took offense to it, LaRusso gave no indication. “You’re just lucky you came somewhere where a guy knows what it’s like to be told off by his old lady.”

“Well, how could any woman resist someone who talks about her like that?” As if any guy who grew up in the fucking Eighties had any room to talk about respecting women – Johnny wanted to ridicule him for it but knew that times had changed. They sat side by side on the couch. Daniel’s posture was rigid, as if he dared not soften into the curve of a living room he already regretted intruding upon. He cracked open the tab of the beer, taking a few gulps as though he needed the nerve.

“She’s pissed off, huh?”

“Really pissed off,” Daniel confirmed. “Pissed off and productive – served me with papers this morning, like she’s had some suit on retainer for this very reason for, like, months.”

“You must be a real dick,” Johnny offered. “Like it took a lawyer to confirm that. I never went to school, but I’d be willing to be a witness in the case.”

“It would be biased testimony,” Daniel said, taking another large gulp of beer as though trying to calm the nerves he seemed to feel. “If you spent decades hating someone, any good attorney would use it as an opportunity to discredit you because of it.”

“Like they’d need me anyway - any judge who met you would think you were a real dick,” Johnny told him dismissively, finishing the last warm vestiges of his drink. He groped for the remote control, unpausing _Bloodsport_ where it had frozen on the television when he’d gotten up to answer the door.

He’d spent almost an entire week struggling with Netflix before Miguel had set him straight on just how to navigate it with this stupid, tiny ass remote that was too easy to lose in the couch cushions among coins and popcorn. The memory of Miguel moving and not crippled up for the moment in a hospital bed made his throat feel thick, and he kicked it aside in favor of the matter at hand – being pissed at Daniel LaRusso.

“As if hanging drywall makes you some kind of legal expert,” Daniel said, already comfortable enough to prop his dress-shoed feet up on the rickety coffee table. Annoyance flared in Johnny’s gut.

“You act like you’re the first guy who’s ever split up with a chick before,” Johnny grunted, narrowing his eyes at Jean Claude van Damme, anticipating him delivering the first blow it would be _wrong_ to replicate right onto Daniel’s face here in the space of his living room. “Some of us weren’t pussies about it.” Daniel pursed his lips, clearly irritated but preferring to focus instead on the action of the movie. Johnny knew they’d both seen it a hundred times, but the mindless comfort was nice.

“How’s things at Cobra Kai?” Daniel asked, clearly unable to avoid the temptation of pushing on both of their bruises a bit.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“That good, huh?” Daniel mused grimly.

And he had been having such a good night, all things considered, before Daniel showed up.

“Not mine to fucking worry about anymore.” _If it ever was_. “If you came here to tell me _I told you so_ – ” But Johnny knew he was making an empty threat and shook his head, turning his new can of beer up so brusquely that it bubbled with foam, threatening to choke him. It would’ve been a fitting way to go. Maybe he ought to just commit to drowning himself in it.

“I didn’t know,” Daniel muttered. His eyes were fixed on the screen, though he could’ve recited the dialogue from memory, complete with stage directions. “Wouldn’t have taken a crystal ball, but – you know, there were times when I could tell you were trying to make a difference.”

“Yeah, well.” Johnny’s mouth set itself in a thin, tight line. “Cobra Kai never dies, huh?”

“Guess not.” There was a pessimism in Daniel’s voice that he’d never really heard before, and it made Johnny’s stomach tense.

The pizza arrived and they both picked at it with halfhearted interest. The movie ground along further and further, and about three quarters through, Johnny realized he hadn’t been paying attention. There had been worse choices for background noise, and he was grateful for the idea that he’d made the right decision for once.

At least he could still have faith in good old van Damme. He remembered the signed photo he’d tacked in his room at Sid’s house when he’d hastily penned and mailed off a giddy fan letter. He’d gotten knocked around for putting holes in the closet door to hang it up. It had been worth it, up until Sid tore it in half when he brought home a C on a math test – who even gave a fuck what trigonometry was?

The credits began to roll as the sunlight had almost entirely faded, and Daniel had two more empty beers on the coffee table in front of him.

“Listen, LaRusso,” Johnny began, voice rough with disuse and cheap barley and even cheaper hops. “Sleep on the couch and figure your shit out tomorrow.”

Daniel turned to face him, surprise splashed on his features. “Really, you don’t have to – that’s not why I came here,” he said in protest. What exactly he had come for was still unclear, but Johnny had crashed just long enough on Tommy’s couch to know innately that an old lady kicking you to the curb could scramble a man’s brain.

“What did you come for, then?” Johnny asked, thrusting another unopened beer in Daniel’s direction.

“I’ll get a hotel.” Daniel paused, glum humor peeking through in an unhappy smile. “Isn’t that what guys do when they ruin a good thing?”

“Depends on if they have a prenup and money to throw away,” Johnny pointed out, knowing that the particulars of he and Amanda’s arrangement hadn’t been specified yet in conversation. “Don’t be a dumbass. Just stay. _Time Cop_ ’s on Amazon Plus.”

“Amazon _Prime_ ,” Daniel corrected, needing to be right.

“That’s what I said.”

Daniel gave him a skeptical look before unsnapping the tab on his beer. He didn’t argue. “It’s been a long time since I drank beer from a can.”

“Yeah, well, it’s no bed and breakfast here at Casa de Lawrence, but you ain’t paying, so,” Johnny warned, knowing he was letting a jab glance off of him. “If it means that much to you, I have a couple of extra pillows and a box of Eggos with half your name on it.” He wondered when he’d gotten so charitable, and he thought of his phone arguably destroyed in the tide for a moment before stuffing it down. He didn’t know how to use the damn thing anyway. Out of sight, out of mind.

 _Time Cop_ wasn’t his favorite – the plot was thin, even for his standards - but he’d settle for it. Daniel didn’t seem to mind, only seemed disgusted when Johnny picked out a cold slice of pizza from the leftovers and ate it straight from the box with only a ragged scrap of paper towel as the napkin. Johnny assumed Daniel had, like, cloth ones at home and a butler who called the pizza an _artisan flatbread_ or some other shit to distract from the fact that he owned a car lot that could brag mostly about a funny dick that had been spray painted on its billboard. He smiled at the memory.

Halfway through the movie, Daniel looked over at him with his eyes only a little bleary but a lot tired.

“Thanks, John,” he said, voice gone quiet.

“Whatever,” Johnny said, pinching a little at the sides of his beer can until it offered a metallic grunt in protest.

-

The next morning, a hangover clenched at him a way that he knew he could fight off. The dojo seemed long gone in his mind, even though he knew rental bills would fade from white to yellow to red like the changing of seasons in his mailbox until he got up the nerve to shove them onto Kreese entirely. Maybe it was advisable to cut off an injured arm before it got gangrene. He sighed, rolling over onto his back so that he could take the pressure of his mashed pillowcase off of his cheek. It was at least a merciful gesture.

He could hear some quiet rustling in the kitchen, and he sat up in bed, wondering if some tough kid had jimmied open the lock of his apartment door again to come in and look around for anything valuable – as if they’d find anything anyway. He rolled out from under the covers, snatching at the baseball bat he kept propped up against the doorframe. On a spryer morning, he could’ve taken someone down with his arms and legs, but his head felt a little too foggy for that. He grasped the wooden handle and threw the door open, storming through it.

Daniel stood in the kitchen, pushing down the toaster level just as Johnny leapt toward him.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled, jerking back in his rumpled jeans and dress shirt, back pressed against the flimsy stucco wall. Johnny’s eyes opened a little in alarm to find him there. The memories of the night before hit him abruptly. “Nice job, Lawrence, you asshole!” Daniel blared, his blood pressure clearly elevated beyond what was comfortable.

“You could’ve warned me,” Johnny grunted, retreating only a little as if there was still some unnamed threat just around the corner.

“Sorry, I figured _Time Cop_ and seven beers knocked you out,” Daniel told him pointedly, letting his defensive hands drop in defeat.

Johnny lowered the bat as a parallel, still set on edge.

“I made you a couple of waffles,” Daniel said, clearly as a peace offering. It was unclear whether the warming ones were for him. “I could’ve made pancakes.”

“Same shit,” Johnny said, heart rate still high even if he’d never want Daniel to know the difference.

“One has pockets for butter,” Daniel told him calmly, scraping margarine onto the surface of what he’d already made. “I gotta say – I ‘ve never used karate on someone who was going to hit me with a bat before.” Johnny wished he could say the same – tried to do apartment maintenance on way too many units still occupied by a person on meth before. It was the kind of shit you didn’t tell someone on a polite enough resume.

“Old habit,” Johnny said gruffly, a little embarrassed as he leaned against the counter now. Daniel raised an eyebrow but didn’t remark on the tale from _the street_. “Sorry.” Daniel directed his attention back to the stovetop where he had been scrambling eggs that Johnny had forgotten were in the fridge. His appetite hadn’t been the same lately, and he was constantly pissed at himself for wasting money on food he’d never get around to being hungry for.

Daniel cooked in silence, and Johnny watched him with both suspicion and interest. He supposed he couldn’t fault Daniel for coming here when he’d gotten the papers from Amanda. He really did understand what it was to lose pieces of yourself to karate in equal measures of good and bad. He knew what it meant to question what happened in the dojo and what it meant for your life outside and away from it.

And after all, he had a spare bedroom he’d gotten in the vain hope that one day he might be able to coerce Robby into staying a weekend or two here and there, and that hope had definitely grown even more futile these days. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to, like, lick his wounds with someone else. Johnny couldn’t believe he was even considering it until –

“Listen, I was thinking,” he said, mouth run away with him before he could even fully formulate his thoughts. Daniel paused where he had been dishing up the scrambled eggs and sprinkling them with pepper and shredded cheese. Johnny wondered if that was the way Daniel made eggs for his kids, and he pushed the thought away before he could feel too bad for the guy. “It’s no villa or wherever the fuck you were thinking, but I got a spare bedroom with nobody using it. If you kick a couple hundred bucks a month toward it, I don’t mind if you stay however long it takes for you to get back in her good graces.”

Daniel gave a tight, bitter laugh. “I think I’d be waiting forever for that.” He didn’t respond further for a few moments. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me, Johnny.”

“Why not?”

“Because you hate me, for starters,” Daniel pointed out, a handful of words that spoke volumes. He slid the chipped plate of eggs and waffles toward Johnny, rummaging around for a fork and knife in a drawer that hung slightly crookedly in its tracks. Johnny had been meaning to fix it.

Johnny shrugged. “Whatever, man. Think of it as you doing me a favor too. I should’ve gotten a one bedroom anyway.” It suddenly felt important that Daniel say yes to him, and he inwardly kicked himself for the possibility of sounding desperate and reminded himself that he needed the money – the only possible explanation for the feeling. “Closet’s not as tiny as it looks.”

Daniel took a few seconds to consider, staring down at his eggs. “Maybe for a month wouldn’t be so bad,” he said finally. “If she changes her mind and we do work things out, it’d be dumb to sign a lease of a new place straight out of the gate.” He looked back up at Johnny just in time to grimace at the way Johnny doused his eggs in off brand ketchup. “All right, that sounds good. But if you try to pull that macho Cobra Kai shit on me, I’m out.”

Neither of them had the heart to consider that the days of _macho Cobra Kai shit_ had been what had gotten them both here, two grown men sharing a shitty apartment because they’d made a mess of separate good things. Johnny took a messy bite of his breakfast, groping in the cabinet for syrup and peanut butter to slather on his waffles. Daniel regarded him warily.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Johnny said, pushing both of them toward him. Daniel gave a slight shrug and complied, setting about doctoring his own breakfast up to Johnny’s standards. “Don’t you have to work?”

“It’s Saturday,” Daniel reminded him, somehow innately knowing that Johnny had lost track of the days now that he had no classes scheduled and no current obligations. “Sometimes I go into the dealership to check on things on Saturdays, just in case. I don’t feel like it today.” He didn’t need to explain why to Johnny. Johnny had spent, like, five years straight avoiding every bar he’d ever been to with Shannon in hopes of not seeing some other loser pawing all over her so she could get free drinks. Amanda was a classier babe than that, but at least he could relate.

Johnny chewed slowly before speaking with his mouth still full. “Want to go play some pool later?”

Despite himself, Daniel smiled. “I haven’t played pool in years.”

“Good – it’ll make it even easier for me to kick your ass,” Johnny said breezily. Daniel chuckled but didn’t argue, only turning his attention to cutting his peanut butter covered waffles into neat little squares. Johnny wondered where Daniel had found his manners over the years, usually remembering him as the little shiteater that had kicked him illegally in the face.

“We’ll see,” Daniel said, naturally competitive as ever.

-

Despite Johnny’s uncharacteristic attempt at optimism, Amanda LaRusso was not a woman to easily change her mind.

Two weeks had gone by, and she hadn’t responded to any of Daniel’s calls or texts, much to his dismay but not a surprise. Johnny hadn’t known Amanda the way that Daniel did, obviously, and had expected the storm to blow over. Daniel’s life was too charmed for any other outcome.

At least, it would appear that way, but only until Daniel brought out the stack of divorce papers he still hadn’t signed yet.

They were beginning to crinkle at their edges, rumpling in the margins as he worried over their contents time and time again. He only got them out when he thought Johnny wasn’t looking, but there were only so many places to hide in a tiny apartment. He’d slipped in and out of the house when Amanda wasn’t home, coming back with armfuls of clothes and various belongings. Johnny felt an odd, inward wince when he thought about Miyagi-do sitting alone and unattended, gathering dust because Daniel felt too guilty to even try to teach there.

Instead, they passed their nights with moderately irresponsible drinking and badass action movies. Daniel made no mention of his concerns or griefs about ending his marriage, and Johnny assumed it was because he expected Johnny to call him a pussy. He couldn’t say he blamed Daniel – he probably would’ve, probably would’ve implied that it was fucking girly to talk about their feelings.

Still, there were nights where he could feel the pain rolling off of Daniel in crashing waves, palpable and overpowering in the space of a too-small living room. If he was a better man, he would say something. Good thing he had never claimed to be.

It was on one of these nights that he looked over to his right, where Daniel had taken up residence for the last couple of weeks. He appeared deeply focused on _Total Recall_ even though they’d basically recapped the entire plot earlier in the afternoon when discussing their favorite parts of the movie. Johnny liked the way that Daniel never seemed bored by the things he liked, and as such was never too cool to like them all over again.

It was just as well, he scoffed to himself, because no one would ever claim that Daniel LaRusso was cool.

A small, mildly contended smile creased Daniel’s mouth despite the fact that it didn’t seem to meet his eyes. He was nursing a shitty beer and had stopped knocking Johnny’s taste early on in his stay. Perhaps there was something to be said for getting back to one’s roots, especially when one’s roots were in boozy nights at someone’s house while their parents were out of town, or on a beach where alcohol would lessen the sting of a more popular kid trying to kick your ass.

Perhaps he’d had too much to drink when he realized that the sadness on Daniel’s face was making _him_ sad. These days Johnny Lawrence needed still another thing to be sad about like he needed a hole in his head. His throat felt uncomfortable and thick.

Even worse, he allowed his eyes to drift over Daniel’s face, studying its curves and angles in a way he hadn’t since high school. He was glad Daniel was focused on the television, knowing that a slight heat had risen to his own cheeks at his own stupidity. He dragged his own gaze back to Schwarzenegger – now _that_ was worth focusing on, he reminded himself, a total fucking badass.

“We can talk about it, if you want to,” he blurted suddenly, knowing he’d be better served by keeping his eyes peeled for the first appearance of the chick with three tits on the screen and wondering if Daniel was trying to do the same. What guy wasn’t? “I mean, if not – ”

Daniel turned to him, a note of quiet bewilderment creasing his brow. He gave a half hearted chuckle.

“No offense, but I don’t expect you to understand.” It was a true enough statement that still stung.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Like I said, you’re not the first guy who ever made a bad decision and got his ass dumped for it.” He paused quietly, picking at the wet, peeling label of his beer bottle with one ragged fingernail. “When Shannon left, I – well, it fucking sucked, let’s put it that way.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Did it suck so bad that you ended up moving into your high school bully’s spare bedroom?”

“Maybe I felt like you were bullying me too,” Johnny retorted, a slight, childish edge of protest lining his words. “Did you ever stop to think it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world if we had been able to tolerate each other back then?”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Johnny paused for a moment to consider – it really had been a stupid thing to say, one that he had meant under the skin. “You’re a real asshole.”

Shrugging, Johnny peeled the label off entirely and abandoned it on the TV tray in front of him in a damp heap. “It wasn’t like we didn’t have shit in common. Even if your karate was wimpy.”

“Wimpy enough to kick that pretty boy face?”

“Oh, so you thought I was pretty,” Johnny sneered. There was a feeling he couldn’t put a name to beating in his gut like a flurry of punches. It worked a laugh loose from Daniel, making him look even more annoyed with the course of the conversation.

“Shut up, Lawrence,” Daniel replied smartly, drinking the rest of his beer and rising to his feet for another pair of beers. He knew better than to return without one for Johnny as well. When he came back, he laid it on the TV tray next to the wet pile of label scraps. “It’s weird, though, I guess. Could’ve saved a lot of bullshit headaches, huh?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Johnny confirmed, finishing the last traces of beer in his bottle even though it was probably mostly spit now.

For the rest of the movie, Johnny fought with himself not to look over at Daniel again.

-

Unfortunately, things hadn’t worked out simply enough after that night, even he had been successful in his attempts to shift his focus back to the chick with three tits at least for the rest of the run time of the movie. He kept replaying the spare moments of the conversation about what might have been over and over in his mind. _That pretty face_.

And really, it made no sense. People had been sneering at Johnny’s pretty blond hair and his pretty blue eyes and the pretty shape of his cheekbones for decades. It got girls to talk to him in dive bars and Kreese to scream in his face. It wasn’t like being _pretty_ had ever gone unnoticed in the world. Being _pretty_ had always swung between being a golden ticket and the short end of the stick – a blessing and a curse, maybe.

Still, it was another thing entirely to have Daniel LaRusso posted up in his room after decades of battling off and on the mat off and on throughout the years, confirming that Johnny’s face had been a pretty one, even if sometimes when he studied himself in the mirror Johnny felt like he was aging like milk under the weight of sun and booze.

And if he’d dipped his hand below the waistband of his slouchy pajama pants later that night, it was purely business, brought on by the earlier vision of three tits on an Eighties chick instead of just two – purely business and nothing more. It was business that most certainly had nothing to do with Daniel LaRusso’s pretty eyelashes dusting over his cheeks in his sleep a thin wall away.

A few mornings later, Johnny was neatly dropping empties in the trashcan – fuck recycling glass; they never came to pick that shit up anyway and he figured the environment wasn’t as bad off as the kids at the dojo told him it was, anyway – when a knock came at the door. Daniel was in the shower – wet, _glistening_ – and the water was running loudly through the old pipes. Johnny looked over his shoulder at the door as though it might give him some answers about who was on the other side without him having to open it. He’d called to abruptly cancel his lease on the Cobra Kai space a few days ago and had been wary that Kreese might show up to settle the score in retaliation.

He eyed the baseball bat propped up against the wall beside the door, hoping his reflexes would be quick enough to scoop it up if the moment called for it. It was too risky to sneak a glance through the cheap blinds for a heads up.

Johnny strode over and opened the door, only slightly, and pushed his face to the parted gap.

Samantha LaRusso stood at the other side, backpack over one shoulder and looking like she’d rather be in a Saturday detention instead. _Oh, shit_.

“Hi, Mr. Lawrence,” she said, clearly anxious and still with the manners that he assumed that Daniel and Amanda had taught her – at least some people still did that for their kids. “Is my dad here?”

“He’s in the shower,” Johnny told her. “How – how’d you know?”

  
Samantha rolled her eyes. “Anthony checked his Find My iPhone. We figured he was either staying here or you killed him and didn’t know how to turn his phone off.” She cracked a small, guilty smile. “Can I talk to him?”

Johnny laughed despite himself – leave it to Daniel LaRusso’s kid to be just as big of a smartass as her old man. He thought of Robby for a moment until he couldn’t stand the shame of its weight. He stepped aside, welcoming her inside despite the fact that he hadn’t had a conversation with a teenage girl he wasn’t teaching to become a glorified assault weapon in years.

“He’ll probably be out soon,” he said, suddenly feeling woefully unequipped to host. He kicked the full trashcan into its place below the sink, hoping she wouldn’t notice the high volume of empty Coors Banquet inside of it. The last thing she needed was the image of her father as someone who drank the same swill Johnny Lawrence did. He was sure of it. “Want something to drink? I have, uh, milk or something.” He wasn't sure what kids liked to drink anymore.

“I’m all right, thank you,” she told him diplomatically. There was a long, awkward silence, only a little blotted out by the sound of the creaky bathroom pipes and a wayward couple fighting in the parking lot. “I – have you talked to Miguel lately?” she asked. Her voice sounded small and a little sad, and Johnny wished there was something to tell her other than that Johnny had made every effort to hide from the reality of his injuries. He’d seen Carmen across the parking lot last week on her way to the hospital, shooting daggers at him that he doubted would ever lessen in their intensity.

“Not lately,” he said shortly, hoping it wouldn’t hurt the girl’s feelings. She’d probably had enough of that recently, enough for a lifetime or two. He remembered what it was like when his mom fought with Sid, as far back as the days where he’d blamed himself for it before he realized that some adults just simply couldn’t stand each other. Samantha nodded resolutely, clearly having expected the answer, and it only made him feel like more of a piece of shit.

Time seemed to drag on further until the water slowed and eventually cut off in the bathroom. He assumed Daniel was on the other side – drying himself off, having to put on his clothes, _Jesus Christ_ – tidying himself and putting on the moisturizer that Johnny had ridiculed from the moment it appeared on the rickety shelf above the sink. Suddenly, time couldn’t pass by quickly enough. Maybe this had been a mistake. Why did he feel caught and like he had been hiding in plain sight?

Luckily, before he had any time to punish himself with thoughts of how wrong it had been to expect Daniel’s presence to come without some kind of stupid, cosmic sense of consequences, the door to the bathroom opened.

“I’d kill someone for some good Chinese food,” Daniel was saying, clearly expecting only Johnny in the common area. His hair was still wet. Daniel froze soon enough, as soon as he’d laid eyes on Samantha. “Sam,” he said, voice suddenly gone anxious and borderline distant. “I – what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Dad,” she answered, laying her backpack down on the floor now that she didn’t need to give the illusion of leaving any time soon. “I just – I just wanted to come to talk.”

Daniel shot an awkward glance into Johnny’s direction, clearly feeling uncomfortable with the idea of booting Johnny out of his own apartment for even a minute. It made Johnny flinch on the inside. Just because he hadn’t had a conversation with Robby in years that didn’t end with him being called an asshole either directly or indirectly didn’t mean that he didn’t abstractly understand the notion that some kids could _talk_ to their parents about shit.

“Y’know, I think I’m going to go to the store,” Johnny said, unsubtle but certainly aiming for helpfulness.

“You don’t have to – ” Samantha interjected, but it was gone by the wayside.

“I realized a minute ago that we were out of Poptarts,” Johnny supplied, and maybe that was less helpful. Samantha probably didn’t need to know that her dad had been reduced to off brand breakfast pastries in some other middle-aged karate dude’s apartment, but there it was laid out on the line nonetheless. At least he had the tact not to clarify whether or not Daniel would want strawberry or brown sugar cinnamon. “Take your time. I’ll be back later.”

Neither of the LaRussos protested his exit, and he was thankful for it. He needed a drive anyway.

-

The sun had gone down by the time he’d returned. He’d sat in the parking lot by himself for several long, long minutes, wondering whether or not he should risk going inside to check on Miguel before deciding he couldn’t face Carla’s wrath today if she was there. After that, he’d gone to the Verizon store and grudgingly bought a new phone. He’d lied and said it was lost in an accident at the boardwalk, some shit about a seagull knocking it out of his hand and into the water that the salesgirl had little interest in indulging other than to talk him into a stupid, overpriced insurance plan on a phone he didn’t even fucking want in the first place.

He’d had three beers at Dave’s down the street, waiting for the air to clear out at home before he did what somehow felt like intruding by returning home. Somehow it felt like the charitable thing to do even though it was borne out of his own selfish desire to avoid kid shit like _emotions_. Such a thing had always been inconvenient and unwanted. The floors were sticky and the music was loud. At least those two things could still comfort him.

It only occurred to him when he pulled into the parking space right out front of his door that he hadn’t brought even a single sleeve of Poptarts back with him. So much for being sneaky.

Luckily, Daniel was walking Samantha out the door just as soon as he turned the engine off. He wasn’t sure why he was relieved. Daniel leaned down, brushing a kind, fatherly kiss into the hair at the top of her head. They exchanged a few words he couldn’t hear as she hoisted her backpack over one shoulder, regarding her father with a smile. There wasn’t any yelling or pressured exchange of words, which made him smile a little to himself despite the pang of envy that flared slightly in him.

When he got out of the car, he carried a daintily sized paper bag with his new phone in it, and he felt stupid. At least Samantha and Daniel tacitly ignored the case of beer under his other arm.

Samantha smiled at him as she made her way to her car.

“Thanks for being nice to my dad, Mr. Lawrence,” she said, a disarming sort of genuineness in her voice.

It was probably the first time in his life that anyone had thanked him for being _nice_ since a girl who had no interest in him thanked him for paying for a drink she didn’t want but appreciated nonetheless.

If Samantha had expected some kind of response, she gave no indication, and breezed past him with her curls bouncing. She was gone as soon as she had come. Daniel was still smiling in her directly when Johnny brushed past him and into the entryway of the apartment. Daniel waited until Samantha’s taillights had safely faded into the distance before he closed the door.

“Went okay?” Johnny asked, not wanting to push as he unceremoniously shoved the cardboard case of beers into the bottom shelf of the fridge. Nothing else had gone on that shelf since he’d moved in what felt like a lifetime ago.

“She’s confused,” Daniel said, as though that explained everything, and honestly, Johnny figured it did. “She says Amanda doesn’t talk about it – kind of put the information out there and let them put the pieces together.”

“Bitch,” Johnny muttered, unsure why he was put out by the knowledge. He supposed he would have wanted to know at that age.

Daniel regarded him with a sharp look. “That’s still my wife,” he warned, but Johnny knew it was probably out of reflex given the tired edge of his voice.

“Right. Sorry,” Johnny muttered, standing with the fingertips of both hands on the countertop, but he still didn't regret what he'd said.

Despite his earlier rankling, Daniel shrugged, opening the fridge that had just closed to get himself a beer. Maybe he was gaining a taste for tasting the Rockies after all. Johnny watched, trying not to watch too closely though at Daniel’s lips closed around the rim of the beer.

“I thought the same thing, though,” Daniel told him, looking slightly guilty. He paused, sitting the beer down for a split second before deciding to drain the rest of the can in a way that quietly thrilled Johnny with its novelty. “I – listen, this morning, I signed the papers.” He paused as though unable to believe what he’d just heard himself say. “I didn’t tell Sam. I just told her to have her mom call me.”

“Shit, dude,” Johnny muttered, opening his own beer, knowing he’d need it so he could keep up with the conversation that seemed to have been building like a storm cloud overhead for weeks – longer, really, if Daniel had ever had the decency to be honest with himself about the overall state of things. “I mean – how do you feel?”

Daniel let out a helpless laugh. “Is Johnny Lawrence asking me how I _feel_ about something?”” he asked wryly, knowing that the moment was a lot like watching a dog walk on its hind legs. Johnny shrugged and took a long pull off of his own drink. “I feel - ” He paused, considering his words. “At the risk of you calling me a pussy, I feel terrified.” The words were spoken plain as day. Daniel knew him too well, and always had.

“Terrified, huh?” Johnny said, narrowing his eyes a little as his inner Kreese monologue sized Daniel up and found him wanting. He kicked it aside. “That calls for the heavier shit, huh?” He opened the stupidly small cabinet over the stove and produced a fifth of Jack Daniels that he surprisingly had hardly even touched after cracking it open.

To his surprise, Daniel took several long, slow drags off of the beer before crushing the can and throwing it into the heaping can under the sink. He lifted his hands up as though inviting whatever Johnny was keen to pour out.

“Terrified,” he concurred, as though waiting for Johnny to strike first. It was strange to see him so open to it.

Johnny produced two plastic Solo cups from a rumpled, sideways bag on the countertop, forgotten beside his car keys. He tipped two generous pours into the bottoms of each cup, knowing it was a bridge too far into germs and intimacy to expect them to pass the bottle back and forth just yet.

Daniel tipped his plastic cup against Johnny’s. “To your health,” he said simply, and Johnny was both surprised and grateful he didn’t have some tried and true Miyagi-ism to toast with. They both threw the liquor back handily, and Johnny chased his with a few mouthfuls of beer that weren’t quite cold enough just yet. “That’s disgusting, Johnny.”

Wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, Johnny shrugged. “My house, my rules.” His fingers were already curled around the neck of the whiskey bottle again. “Another one?” To his surprised amusement, Daniel didn’t protest, and Johnny knew he had to follow his sense of bravado with action to back it up. The next two shots went down easily. He had already been drinking tonight, and thanked some unseen, unacknowledging god that he was home and didn’t need to drive anywhere else.

The fighting couple in the parking lot had retired long ago from their fight, either resolving things amenably or by the force of having the cops called on them, and the air was quiet and suddenly too stuffy.

“What are you terrified about?” Johnny implored, mind swimming only a little bit.

Daniel thought for a moment.

“That I’m not the person I thought I was,” he said finally. “That I’m selfish, and - ” He sputtered out a jerky, uncontained laugh. “ – and that I have no idea what I want.” Now he did pick up the bottle of Jack, gulping a bit of it with the practice only a man of his age could have.

“Yeah.” It was a statement that Johnny could agree with, plain in its simplicity and utterance. It felt a lot like falling when you’d stupidly thought your footing was just about to get steady. “Maybe so.” Liquor had probably been a bridge too far, and he gravitated back toward the fridge, rooting inside for another can of beer. It was probably a mistake to keep going, but Johnny Lawrence wasn’t known for avoiding mistakes, and probably never had been. “You know, you always did better than I did.”

It was an easy, softball compliment that on a better day they could probably both agree with, but Daniel let it fall to the wayside. Johnny noticed – not for the first time – how big Daniel’s eyes were, how nervous his mouth was when he licked at his bottom lip.

“I was thinking about what you said, you know,” he began, pouring himself another splash of whiskey.

“Please tell me it was about all the times I called you an asshole,” Johnny said, but the words sounded lame to his own ears.

Daniel ignored him. Whiskey was already thrumming through him. Despite his nice façade, Daniel wore his emotions and intoxication easily as anything. “We could’ve avoided a lot of bullshit if we hadn’t spent the last thirty years at each other’s throats. I’ve just been thinking about it, that’s all.” He paused, though his mouth had already effectively run away without him. “You aren’t terrible, if you’re willing to put the effort into it.” Ice cubes clinked in his plastic cup. “It was downright decent of you to let me stay here. If I told anyone, it would ruin your reputation.”

Johnny’s cheeks were hot. “I told you. Money talks.”

“Sure it does.”

It suddenly registered with Johnny just how close they were in proximity, with Daniel swaying closer still. He could almost feel the heat of Daniel radiating off of him. He took a drink of beer, grateful it was cold as though throwing a few drops of water on a flame that was veering dangerously close to an inferno.

And then:

“Would you kick my ass if I kissed you?”

For a moment, the words landed without heed to whoever had uttered them, and Johnny realized in horror that they had come from him.

He’d spent enough decades of his life – almost all of them, really, to some extent – having his ass kicked not to flinch as soon as he registered what he’d said. He braced himself for a similar catastrophe, expecting blood to bloom in his nose when it broke in the impact. He’d been slapped by enough to chicks to become accustomed to the feeling of being shut down with extraordinary force.

“No.”

Daniel’s response shocked him enough almost as much as him asking the question in the first place.

“What?”

“And now you have cold feet,” Daniel said, clearly amused at his expense. “No, I wouldn’t kick your ass, unless now _I_ have to call _you_ a pussy.” The final word was taunting and rude and _dirty_ in Daniel’s mouth, and Johnny felt his mind swimming with it. He was never one to be challenged on his actions. To be perfectly clear, Johnny Lawrence didn’t take any kind of bullshit off of anybody.

Before he could second guess himself, he struck quickly, crowding Daniel against the wall. He crashed their mouths indelicately together, kissing Daniel in a mess of lips and teeth without mind to stealing his breath. Daniel let out a soft, squeaked noise of surprise, but to Johnny’s gratitude, returned the kiss in earnest. It was as though he’d wanted Daniel’s mouth for his entire life and only just now been given it, and Johnny sighed in contentment against his lips.

The pause for indulgence lasted just long enough for Daniel to grasp him by the shoulders, clenching tight in the fabric of his AC/DC t-shirt. He flipped their positions, pinning Johnny against the cheap stucco wall of the kitchen. There was liquor on his tongue as it pushed, forceful but welcome into the space of his mouth. Johnny allowed himself to be pushed, out of his depth but not unhappy with the reversal of roles.

Daniel didn’t seem to be in the mood to hesitate, thrusting his knee between Johnny’s legs, and Johnny felt ashamed as he reflexively ground his hips down against it while Daniel kissed him harder.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Daniel gritted out accusingly. “You always have been.”

Johnny’s eyes opened in surprise but fluttered closed immediately, knowing that this moment, _here_ in his shitty kitchen, was not simply an isolated incident. Rather, it was the peak of decades of build up of tension, and this was the inevitable outcome. Daniel sealed their lips together, nipping at his bottom lip and pulling a ragged moan from him that made him blush.

“I hate you,” Johnny choked out, but they both knew it wasn’t true, knew it so deeply that it didn’t warrant remarking upon. “Fuck, I _hate_ you.” Daniel made a soft murmur that neither agreed nor disagreed, pushing him back harder and biting his bottom lip. Johnny let out a desperate noise of surprise, clutching at Daniel by his belt.

“Do you?” Daniel challenged, unable to help himself as he rubbed his knee closer against the front of Johnny’s jeans. Any counter argument died on Johnny’s tongue as soon as Daniel claimed his mouth. “I think you _don’t_.” The argument was effectively squashed, and now Johnny clutched at the stubborn collar of Daniel’s shirt as Daniel’s fingers found his belt buckle.

“This is – is this fucked up?” Johnny blurted, suddenly feeling caught out in the open.

“Probably,” Daniel said, a sheepish laugh rattling its way out of him. “Are you mad about it?”

Johnny knew he didn’t need to argue, choosing instead to chase Daniel’s lips with his own. He kissed him like he might have been dying to for years, and probably _had_ been. He jerked, startled when Daniel’s hand drifted down to ghost across the front of his jeans. This was most certainly not how he had seen an evening unfolding when he’d invited Daniel to crash on his couch while he sorted his shit out. This was not how he’d expected the shit to get sorted out, not with him gasping and shaking against the wall of his kitchen.

“I kind of want you,” Johnny blurted helplessly.

“Only kind of?” Daniel asked, bemused with all the cards clearly in his hand.

“Don’t be fucking smug,” Johnny protested, not wanting to be one upped. Daniel kissed him again, somehow more chaste now despite the hot pulse of Johnny’s cock trapped under his jeans beneath Daniel’s hand. “Let’s go in the bedroom.” He knew there was no going back as soon as he’d sputtered it out, knew that there was no going back until he’d found himself splayed across the sheets in ways he’d only been able to entertain with a handful of lotion and a brain full of shame.

Luckily, Daniel was merciful, and backed away only enough to lead him into Johnny’s bedroom. The bed was bigger, but no more luxurious than the one in Daniel’s own room. And when had it become _Daniel’s room_? The thought was too big for his mind that had sudden gone feral. He blocked out just how ludicrous the idea was as Daniel pushed him with an almost featherweight touch to the shoulder onto the bed. He looked up at Daniel in wonder as Daniel stripped his shirt off, revealing the tanned skin of his torso.

“I – I’ll stop if you want to,” Daniel offered, always innately erring more toward _good_ than Johnny ever had.

“I don’t want you to, dumbass,” Johnny exhaled, a protest that sounded stronger in its verbiage than its tone. Daniel descended on top of him, kissing him soundless as his hands roamed underneath Johnny’s t-shirt. His fingers wandered up Johnny’s torso, one hand brushing over his nipple without a trace of the shyness that Johnny might have expected before pinching lightly. Johnny gasped, rolling his hips upward in search of friction.

“What do you want?” Daniel murmured, leaning down to bite uncharacteristically gentle bruises into the hollow of his throat. They were the kindest ones anyone had ever given him, and Johnny shivered. He was not a man to easily show weakness, and he felt a little ashamed to find himself giving it up to Daniel handful by handful as if it poured out of him.

“I just want you,” Johnny admitted. “I – fuck, is this weird?”

Daniel let out an exasperated, fussy huff. “It will be, if you keep asking.” Johnny arched up, chasing his mouth in apology as Daniel played with his nipples with both hands now before stripping his shirt off. Daniel kept kissing down his chest, even more excited now that more and more of his body was exposed. Johnny shuddered, knowing Daniel could feel it racing through him but somehow not minding and possible consequence. “That’s good.”

He was laid out now underneath Daniel, straining upward and wanting to finally be out of every stitch of clothing. He squirmed, kicking his shoes off as Daniel leaned down now to capture one of his nipples between his teeth. Johnny’s mouth dropped open in a soft gasp, the slight pain of it so much better than it had any right to be. His dick was so hard. He wanted to touch himself, touch any inch of Daniel he could reach, but instead he fisted the sheets and tried to relax. It didn’t work.

“The noises you make – Jesus Christ, Johnny,” Daniel muttered against his chest, breath hot and teasing against his skin. Daniel pulled away to look at him for a moment, admiring the muscled planes of his body as though he’d been starving for it. He ground his hips down, rubbing the two of them together through the layers of their jeans. Johnny whimpered, embarrassed to be falling apart this way and shaking all over. Daniel didn’t stop, only slowed down, but reached down to undo the button on Johnny’s jeans.

Johnny swallowed, the noise loud in the quiet of the room. And suddenly, Daniel’s hand was on him, feeling the hot shape of him. He leaned down, kissing Johnny hard as he gave him a few initial strokes, trying to figure out the way Johnny liked to be touched. Johnny gasped again, arching upward into the touch. He let his hand slither down Daniel’s back, clutching gracelessly at his ass through his jeans as though trying to pull him closer.

“Yeah, yeah,” Johnny encouraged, wondering when the last time he’d gotten so turned on by a handjob had been. Then again, he’d never had a handjob from Daniel before. _Daniel fucking LaRusso is jerking me off right now_. The thought should have been horrifying, but he found his blood running hotter with the thrilling weight of it. “Oh, god.” Daniel tore his own fly open, freeing himself from the restriction of his jeans, which would certainly have gotten uncomfortable by now. He slotted their hips together, rubbing the heat of their cocks together.

“That’s good,” Daniel choked out again, nipping at Johnny’s collarbone and making him jerk. “That’s so good, baby.” The pet name made Johnny moan, desperate and blushing but not wanting it to end even though he was embarrassed by just how good he was allowing Daniel to make him feel. He’d never had a dude touch him like this before. It should have felt weirder, but he and Daniel had been pacing in circles together for years. It almost felt like a natural step by now.

“Will you – ” Johnny rasped, looking down at the way Daniel kissed down his chest and his belly, and then nipped at the skin of his inner thigh. He could see his cock pulse, needing more of any kind of touch that Daniel was willing to give him. Everything seemed to be happening so fast, but he couldn’t speak anymore, not with the way that Daniel kissed down the length of his dick. His mouth was wet and sloppy and _fucking perfect_ as he stopped teasing and took Johnny in. His hips thrust up in abandon and surprise, and to Daniel’s credit, he didn’t miss a beat. Instead, his hand meandered down to take his own cock in hand.

Watching Daniel this turned on from sucking his cock made things even better and more surreal. Johnny tossed his head back against the pillows before leaning back up, not wanting to miss a moment of it. Daniel looked up at him through his eyelashes, eyes wide and a little bit wet and everything Johnny wanted in this moment, in the space of this room. Daniel moaned slightly around the length of him, letting his tongue play over his tip for a moment.

He rolled Johnny’s balls in one hand with a gentleness Johnny wasn’t used to having directed at him. His mouth was open, gasping as Daniel sped up his movements, and his toes curled as he tried to keep still.

“Fuck,” he said helplessly. “Fuck, _fuck_.”

Now Daniel’s fingers crept further backward, just barely brushing over the hidden rim of his hole. Johnny made a startled noise, scared and more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

“Are you okay? Is this okay?” Daniel asked, pulling off in concern. For the first time tonight, he looked afraid of Johnny, like he’d committed some kind of atrocity and would now be punished for it accordingly. He pulled his hand away as though burned by the heat of Johnny’s body.

“It’s – fuck, man – it’s fine; you can do whatever,” Johnny croaked, trying to spread his legs wider to invite Daniel back in. “I just – nobody’s ever done that before.” Gone was the arrogance and confidence Johnny had carried with him through life, an armor to hide so many parts of him that bruised easily inside, and now he was stripped and bare and weak underneath Daniel. _Terrified_ , he remembered Daniel saying earlier.

Some of the fear went to the wayside when Daniel leaned down to kiss him again, letting his fingers drift back into the crease of his body. He reconsidered for a moment, leaning back to slip a couple of his fingers past Johnny’s lips, the purpose of it clear as day. Johnny made a soft, pleasured noise, sucking at the fingers in his mouth.

“Get them wet,” Daniel urged, stroking Johnny’s cock as something akin to a reward. “Get them nice and wet for me.” His voice had gone ragged with desire. “That’s good, baby.”

When Johnny was as satisfied as he supposed he could be with the job, he pulled away, desperate to find out what the future held. Daniel kissed him again, a wet mash of tongue and lips and teeth as he gently touched the puckered furl of Johnny’s hole. Johnny gasped as Daniel stroked him there, feeling helpless and exposed as he spread his legs in search of more of the touch. His thighs shook already, and it only got worse when Daniel dipped the pad of his index finger past his rim.

“You can – you can keep going,” Johnny found himself urging, embarrassed and aroused and hot all over. He’d never even done this to himself before and had chased a chick or two away from trying to do it to him. Daniel did, sliding more of his finger into the tight clutch of Johnny’s body. “Oh god, oh _fuck_.” Daniel rewarded him again by resuming his slow, gentle strokes in time with the inward motion of his finger, and Johnny was so distracted that he barely realized how deep Daniel was getting until his finger was fully seated inside of him.

It felt weird. There was no other fucking word for it.

“You all right?” Daniel asked, uncertain given the look on his face. Johnny bobbed his head, not trusting his voice. Daniel kissed him again and worked his finger out and back in a few times, letting Johnny get used to the sensation of it. He wondered if Daniel had ever done this before or had it done to him, and the mental image of it made a pulse of precome bead at the tip of his cock. “God, you look so hot. I always thought you were so hot.”

Now Daniel was pressing in a second spit-slick finger alongside the first, making Johnny gasp at the stretch. Johnny did tip his head back, broken and too turned on by the sight of Daniel’s fingers where they disappeared inside of him. Daniel bent his fingers, finding the spot inside of Johnny that sent juddering sparks down his spine. His jaw dropped open in a ragged cry. This time Daniel didn’t startle and stop, knowing he’d found the right spot. He rubbed Johnny’s prostate in gentle circles.

“I – I can’t,” Johnny heard himself say. “You’re going to make me - ”

Daniel let out a shaky laugh. “Isn’t that the point?”

“I just,” Johnny began, cut off by another pass of Daniel’s fingertips over the place inside of him that made him feel weak and lightheaded. “I feel weird saying – god, I kind of want you to fuck me.” His face was so hot he felt like he might suffocate. “ – if you want to,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Daniel pressed their lips together hard, smiling against his mouth like he’d won something wonderful, and for a moment Johnny felt small and teased.

“I’ll be right back,” Daniel murmured against his lips, sliding his fingers out and making Johnny moan unhappily at the loss of them. He turned and walked out the door. Johnny could hear his footsteps on the way into his own bedroom, and then the sound of Daniel opening and closing a few drawers before he found what he was looking for. He returned with a bottle of massage oil.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “You been planning on this?”

“Stupid anniversary gift I had been planning on giving,” Daniel muttered, clearly not wanting to break the mood by talking things out too much. Johnny shrugged, opening his own nightstand to produce a condom. He dropped it unceremoniously onto the bed, staring at it now like it might bite him. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Daniel warned, coming back to the bed and climbing on top of Johnny. The feel of their skin together was distracting despite his well-intentioned words. Johnny swallowed.

“I want to,” he confirmed. “I actually really want to.”

Daniel smiled in satisfaction, pressing the condom into Johnny’s hands. Johnny snorted inwardly, knowing it was a power move for Daniel to make Johnny put it on him himself, but he complied, tearing the wrapper open clumsily and rolling the condom down his dick. Daniel shivered a little at the feeling of Johnny’s hands on him, rough and in no way possible to mistake for a woman’s. Johnny poured lube into his hand, not hesitating before spreading it around down Daniel’s length.

“Are you ready?”

 _Ready as I’ll ever be, fuck_. Johnny nodded, letting Daniel climb off of his body to position himself between his legs. He could feel the tip of Daniel’s cock against his entrance, big and blunt and _right there_ , and he let out a soft, anticipating breath. Daniel lined himself up and began the torturously slow push inside. Johnny’s mouth fell open and he distantly recognized a strangled noise escaping him in a rush. Daniel knotted their fingers together, pinning Johnny to the sheets as he kissed him, swallowing the noises he made.

“Oh my god,” Daniel whispered against his mouth. “How do you feel?”

Johnny let out a laugh now that nearly sounded delirious. “I – fucking full,” he admitted, rolling his hips a little, and it served to get Daniel deeper. He whimpered as Daniel kept pushing. “Good, though – it feels good.” To be fair, it felt a little weird too, but not in a way that made him want it to stop – quite the opposite. He curled his ankle around Daniel’s lower back, pulling him in deeper. “Fuck, oh _god._ ”

Once Daniel was all the way inside, he allowed Johnny several merciful seconds to let his body adjust to the new sensation.

“Are you ready?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Johnny ground out, still pinned and helpless and not hating it a single bit. His head fell back, allowing Daniel the space to mouth hotly down his throat as he began to roll his hips. Johnny made a startled noise, but only as how good it felt. Daniel didn’t misread the sound, maybe too far gone in the feeling of Johnny’s body around him.

Daniel’s thrusts picked up a surer rhythm, rolling in and out of Johnny and making him cry out. “Jesus, you feel good. So tight.” He paused in his words for a moment, watching and enjoying the shaky hitches of Johnny’s breath that his movements pulled out. He kissed Johnny again, and still again. “I’m the only one who’s ever done this to you, aren’t I?”

“Y-yeah,” Johnny admitted, never one to admit any inexperience but knowing it was useless here.

“The only one who ever got to fuck you.” Johnny nodded again. “Did you ever think about this?”

This time Johnny shook his head. “No. Not until now.” It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was honest – just his style. Daniel smiled, knowing it just as well as Johnny did. He kissed Johnny’s neck with a baffling tenderness, letting his hand slip between their bodies to start pumping his cock again. It was almost too much, and Johnny knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer – not with the way that Daniel groaned against his throat, not with the way his thrusts were speeding up and getting deeper. “Daniel, _please_.”

Clearly, Daniel loved the sound of his name on Johnny’s lips, and his thrusts grew jerkier.

“You going to come for me, Johnny?” he whispered against Johnny’s lips. “You going to be good and come for me?” Johnny let out a desperate, shaky whimper, feeling so good he almost hurt all over. Blood was roaring in his ears. “I can see how close you are.” It was true, truer than anything he’d known in a long time. “Let go. Come for me.” He gave a slow, rolling thrust, and then another.

Johnny moaned loudly, jerking upwards into Daniel’s grasp and coming all over his belly and Daniel’s fist, orgasm hitting him like a flurry of fists and feet. He’d never felt anything like it, coming apart in droves as Daniel kept pumping him through the aftershocks. Daniel bit down a little on his shoulder as it was his turn to come, pushing as deep into Johnny’s body as he could get while he did so.

They laid together for a few seconds before Daniel slid out of him, leaving him feeling empty in a way he was surprised to find he didn’t like. Daniel flopped onto his back, wrinkling his nose up at the fact that Johnny’s come was still tacky and drying on his fingers but not moving to comment on it.

“You going to get weird now?” Johnny asked up toward the dark ceiling.

“Things have already been weird, wouldn’t you say?” Daniel asked, laughing now. “Can’t get any weirder.”

“I guess not, huh.” It wasn’t a question. Johnny suddenly felt heavy with sleep. He let his hand wander over to take Daniel’s as if to reassure him that things couldn’t possible get any weirder if they tried.

Daniel waited quietly for a few seconds, watching how heavy Johnny’s eyelids had grown after the crash of his orgasm. Johnny’s limbs were loose and heavy, and he was happy in a way that felt stupid but not unwelcome. It was nice to have something that made him feel that way right now, he thought.

“You know, _I_ had thought about this before.” Daniel’s voice was quiet, almost imperceptible. “I just – there were times when I wondered what it would be like if we – ” He paused. “You know, if we were friends.”

Johnny let out a half-asleep laugh. “ – have to be pretty good friends to do what we just did.” He was smiling. “Don’t be a pussy. Go to sleep.” He squeezed Daniel’s hand, pulling him close as he drifted off. He could feel Daniel smiling against his neck. Things would be so good in the morning. He was somehow sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is my first venture into the Cobra Kai fandom. I’ve read so many great stories in this pairing and I figured it was only a matter of time before I decided to jump in too. I guess someone had to write bottom Johnny, huh? 
> 
> The title of this story is taken from AC/DC – Highway to Hell.  
> If you’re so inclined, you can find me on Twitter at @LBSubmarine. Again, thanks so much for reading! Comments mean the world to me.


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